


Stuck in the Middle With You

by death_of_romeo



Category: Funhaus, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, M/M, Multi, OT7 if you squint, no spoilers for it in here though, shout out to Reservoir Dogs for the very heavy influence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_of_romeo/pseuds/death_of_romeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s gunfire. It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon, and there’s gunfire. Cops are yelling at civilians to take cover, to hide. Everyone is running. Someone’s shot, but nobody knows who. Nobody knows anything and yet everyone knows where to go, where they’re expected to be by the end of this or else they’re all dead. </p>
<p>They don’t know what’s going on, or maybe they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Explanations

**Author's Note:**

> My first shiphaus fic. Here we go.

“I’m _tellin’_ you,” Bruce repeats again, the words almost echoing through the abandoned warehouse just a few corners out of the way of town. “there’s a fucking _rat!_ The cops _knew_ we were gonna be there!”

He’s expecting some sort of reaction. Adam isn’t really known for his reactions (unless you get him drunk, but that’s a different story), but Bruce is hoping for at least _something_. Their crew is split up and possibly _dead_ , for God’s sake, he deserves at least _some_ sort of an explanation. He’s tried to come up with one on his own, and all that’s led to is his conclusion of their crew containing a cop. Or at least, that was the only logical explanation he could come up with. Why else would they be there so quickly? Why else would they be there on the ready as soon as the alarm went off?

“No, they didn’t get there until _after_ the alarm went off.” Is the response he gets from the team’s supposed leader (a bullshit title, if you ask him), and it takes all he has to not just scream at him. To scream, and yell, and shout, because that is _not_ the reply that he wanted. Granted, he isn’t really sure _what_ he wants right now (aside from the rest of his team back and safe – all but Adam are still out there somewhere, roaming the streets of Los Santos with the cops probably fucking tailing them the entire time). “ _Speaking of which_ -“

“No,” he interjects, the defense coming out at an alarming speed even for him. Shit, when did he get so jumpy about this? “James didn’t do it.”

“He _could_ have.”

“No, I was watching him the entire time.” _Wow, that sounded way less creepy in my head,_ he thinks, but ignores it for the time being. Now isn’t really the time to second-guess himself, now is it? He can do that later, once everyone is back home and safe. Once _James_ is back home and safe, because if there’s anyone who enjoys his self-doubt more than himself, it’s that blonde-haired, blue-eyed _fucking idiot._

He shakes his head, tries to get back on the topic at hand.

“He didn’t set the alarm off, and he’s not the rat.” He defends, an uneasy feeling coming with the almost blind defense; James didn’t do any of that, right? He couldn’t have. He _wouldn’t_. Sure, he’s a pretty smart guy, and he’s definitely one hell of a criminal, but he couldn’t double as an undercover cop. He’s not _that_ smart. Or maybe he is.

Adam stepping away and sighing breaks him from his own thoughts and thank God for that.

“Do you know where anyone else is?” is the question that breaks the momentary silence, and it’s the million dollar question right now, isn’t it?

He thinks back to the original plan, thinks back to where everyone else was when the first shots were fired. He didn’t have eyes on most of the team. Matt, Sean, Lawrence, Joel…the four of them could be anywhere. They could have skipped town by now, but he highly doubts any of them would do that. Not without some kind of payout from the heist, and all of that was with Adam. James was within sight, but once the shots started going off…

“I don’t know where James is,” he admits, with the sort of defeated tone a kid would have when proven wrong. “And everyone else…they should all be on their way.”

He knows that sounds dumb. Fuck, does it sound dumb. They’re all wanted criminals at this point, the city is on high alert, and all he has is “well, maybe they’re still on our side”? God, you’d think he just joined the team yesterday. The inexperience (or at least the sense of it) is obvious, too, but Adam doesn’t question it. Instead, he just starts to pace the room. Back, and forth. Back, and forth. It makes the time feel twice as slow, and Bruce hates it.

“We’ve gotta figure out who the rat is.” Adam clarifies after a few moments too many of silent pacing. He then adds, as if to ease his own worry and anxiety, “if there even _is_ a rat.”

Bruce hates the chance of this not being caused by a cop. They’re a talented team; there’s no way they would have failed normally. This had to have been planned by someone on the inside, one of them. It was the only reason that made sense, and really the only one he would accept at this point.

“There’s a rat,” he replies, “and when I find out who it is, I’m gonna kill them.”


	2. Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How the fuck did he get shot?  
> What happened?!  
> Hey, hey, stay with me – you are not dying in this car!”
> 
> Okay, of all the ways this heist could have gone wrong, being yelled at by a very angry Lawrence because he’s bleeding out in the back of his car never once crossed his mind. Huh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm, violence. 8)

There’s one thing they never tell you when you decide to take up a career in being a criminal: being shot? Yeah, not the best feeling. Probably not the worst either, though (comparatively speaking to maybe falling in to a volcano? Being stung by a thousand bees all at once?), but right now, being shot was pretty damn bad.

“Sean, you are _not_ dying in this car.” He’s told and, off-handedly, he wonders if that could actually stop someone from dying in this car right now. Probably not, he decides in the middle of bated breath and bloody grabs at the figure next to him. A figure that suddenly has maybe about 52% of Lawrence’s attention because “Matt, you’re fucking _covered in blood_ , that’s just great, that’s not suspicious at _all_ , Jesus Christ…”

“It’s just blood, it’ll come out.” Is the response the complaints receive, and it’s given so quietly that, amidst the chaos that surrounds them, it would be a shock if anyone even heard it. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. Maybe it’s the reason why the bloody mess next to him moves just a little bit closer to him, sputtering out yet another string of “ _I don’t like it, I don’t wanna die, please, just take me to the hospital, it hurts, pleas-“_

“We’re not taking you to the hospital.” Lawrence interjects, as if it’s his place to. “We’ll get you some help as soon as we’re safe, but _until then_ , try to not die, alright?”

“ _I’m trying_ ,” more stammering, more forced speaking because _hey_ , he’s a member of one of the most feared crews in this city, he can _do_ this. Or, at least he thinks that he can, but maybe he can show just a little bit of weakness right now. Maybe he moves a little bit closer to Matt again, and maybe he doesn’t care about all of the blood that’s getting everywhere.

Or maybe he cares just a little, but everything’s getting foggy now. The world around him is blurry, or grainy, or maybe just a bit too dull for his liking. He can see the red – so much red – and he can see the cream coloured passenger seat in front of him and he can see the sky, a light blue outside the rolled-down windows of this dusty old car, but it’s all beginning to fade. It’s all starting to look lighter, and lighter, and he swears he’s starting to pass out. He’s tired now, so tired, but he doesn’t want to fall asleep.

He knows what this means; he could be dying. This is what almost dying feels like, and this is probably what death feels like, too. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want to think about dying, doesn’t want to think about the gunshot he took in the middle of a firefight he never planned on participating in. He doesn’t want to think that these are his final moments. 

He curls in against his friend, his closest friend in the whole crew, and tries not to die. Maybe he can will himself not to. That’s a thing, right?  
  


 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t remember passing out, nor does he remember being moved from the bloodied backseat of the car to the corner of one of the rooms in the warehouse. The safe house, he remembers being told once before. The place they would come after the heist (“ _Which will go off without a hitch, might I add!”_ – shit, was James wrong). He hates the emptiness here, and he thinks he hears people talking in the other room. He can’t make the voices out (it gives him a headache just trying to), so he just settles for listening. He thinks it’s his team, so that means he’s safe, right? That means everything is okay.

Right?

He can feel something tight wrapped around his stomach, but doesn’t have the energy to look down at it. He traces a hand over it gently, then learns that nothing is gentle enough nowadays. A wince, a soft whine of pain, and he tries again. He’s motivated, or maybe he’s just stubborn. Maybe he’s trying to prove something to someone who isn’t even watching right now.

 “Oh hey, you’re awake.” A voice grabs his attention, and it startles him more than it should. He looks over, tries to find the source of the sound through hazy eyes, and blinks when he finds that it’s Matt, covered in blood; what did he do? Why is he covered in so much blood? What happened?!

“It’s yours, before you panic.” He’s told and – _oh_ – that actually makes a lot of sense. He isn’t really sure why (he doesn’t want to try to piece everything together right now), but he accepts it. He even attempts a nod, then smiles as best as he can.

“I’m…gonna be fine.” he mumbles out, the syllables making a poor excuse of separation. He’s proud of it, though, so the smile remains. “It’s just...one stupid gunshot…I’ll-…I’ll be-“ he takes a deep (albeit painful) breath, and then, “…be fine.” Does he believe it? No, not really, but he wants to.

A loud string of shouting from the other room startles him again, and he hates it. He stares off towards the other room, expecting someone to storm out, or maybe run out. Maybe he expects to hear a gunshot, too, but none of that happens. Just more shouting. Voice over voice over voice, lots and lots of shouting. It’s an argument, he knows that much, but he can’t make out what it’s about.

He looks over to Matt silently, somehow getting the question across.

“Nobody knows where Joel or James is.” The explanation begins, as if it’s a story, or a mythical tale about friendship, and betrayal, and maybe there’s already too many plot twists for Sean’s liking. “Bruce says the cops showing up was because there’s an undercover cop in the crew.” That comment comes with a shrug, and then a conclusion of, “He thinks it’s Joel, but Lawrence says it’s James. Adam’s just trying to keep them from killing each other.”

He wants to know which Matt believes in, but somehow, he knows it’s pointless to try to ask. He doesn’t want to talk about it, anyway.

He reaches a hand over, the same hand that just traced over his makeshift bandage just a few moments prior. It doesn’t make it very far, but he taps it on the floor a few times – or at least tries to – and he hopes that maybe this will translate well in to the words he doesn’t have the energy to say. Maybe Matt will understand, just like he always does.

Maybe it’s something about being shot and possibly living your last day, or maybe it’s something about being one of the most wanted criminals in all of Los Santos. He isn’t sure which, but all he knows is that he wants to be close to someone. He doesn’t want to die alone. He doesn’t want to sit here all by himself and bleed out. He wants to be hugged, and held close, and told that everything will be okay even if it’s a lie.

Before Matt could even move closer, though, he’s out cold again, body lying against the cool brick wall as if it’s just another victim. Just another number to add to the body count.

Sean’s not aware of it, but Matt checks the pulse immediately. He’d be damned if he sat guard at a dead body for the rest of the day.


End file.
